Scarred
by The What-If Writer
Summary: ONE-SHOT. Pitch's encounters Alecvander. The old man knew many things, many things that had not been spoken. Please read 'Nightmare Dust and the Second Sands' to avoid spoilers for the story or any confusion.


_Set before my fic 'Nightmare Dust and the Silver Sands' This contains SPOILERS for that story, really big ones, and slight spoilers for the Guardians of Childhood Books (though not anything major. I think most people know a little about Pitch's backstory.)_

_This is the scene and aftermath of Alecvader's (My OC) first and last encounters with Pitch. Of you've read my fic, then you'll know what happens here. If you haven't read it, turn back. This will be confusing._

Please leave a review!

* * *

_Scarred._

The man who stood before him seemed young.

Pitch loomed overhead, perched calmly and silently above on the pedestal of his domain. The shadows, watchful and gloom, stirred apprehensively in the grey din. The nightmares watched the scene with contempt, but made no move. Not yet.

Pitch placed his hands in front of him, lining his thumbs and fingers together almost patiently. He gave an almost exaggerated thoughtful look as he glanced down at the mortal man, who stood on the dusty grey ground below.

The man seemed young. Black, curling hair falling past his chin. A round face, a pointed nose. Skin with a slight tan in its tone, barley noticeable to the untrained eye. Normal clothes for one of this human era, as Pitch had seen many. Really, no one would mistaken him for anything other than a normal, typical man.

But Pitch was no mere mortal with eyes that looked only once. Speaking of eyes.

Brown, sharp yet so full of life. And so full of power. Pitch found himself unable to meet with them for too long- a simple warlock's trick. A simple mortal who'd been granted power, and who now thought himself almost equal.

The man clenched his fists, only to flex them open again. Pitch, having been silent through their little meeting, where he'd spirited the man away as he strolled through the forest, allowed a small taunting smile. A similar chuckle followed.

_**"You seem uneasy." **_He remarked in a smooth voice touched by menace. He widened his eyes in feigned realization. "_**You must have guessed who I am!"**_

He placed a slender hand on his chest as if flattered, shaking his head a little. The man below was clearing afraid, and every sure movement Pitch made only heightened his unease. Pitch allowed a smirk to curl on his thin lips and he began strolling a little. Humans were all the same. When they saw something- or more frightened someone- who acted sure, confident and looked as if they knew what hey were doing, and if that person seemed threatening...then it frightened them. Terrified them, even. It scared them because the threat knew they were in power, and had rendered them small and helpless...

"Yes, I know you."

Pitch halted his walk. That tone of voice was far from scared. He turned almost in annoyance, bestowing a stark look of sour dislike upon the man. His voice...was not what he expected. Husky. Almost...old. Pitch turned around completely, a frown creasing upon his pale brow. Perhaps he had been...mistaken.

"I know you, Nightmare King." The one with e Second Sight went on, "I know more than you could possibly imagine."

Pitch leaned back with a snide, confident air. But that voice, those sure eyes...still wary, mind you, but knowing. Too knowing for someone of this puny age. Pitch cocked his head with a scowl.

"And just what is that?" He inquired, momentarily forgetting why he had so graciously summoned this character here. The man below shook his head and strode a few steps along the ground before looking back up at him. He shrugged his shoulders.

"Too much to say in a one day."

Pitch laughed loudly in response, his head tilting back. He gave a sharp-toothed grin as he looked down at the mortal, _**"Oh, I simply can't compare with that!"**_

He probably didn't know anything at all...

"Why did you bring me here?"

Pitch gave a curious look. Hm. Seemed they were getting to the chase now...he'd been happy playing that little fear game before, but oh well...

_**"I have heard of your talents." **_He told him, placing his hands behind his back calmly_**, "Second Sight, is it? I suppose that old fool in the sky gave them to you..."**_

"Then it is you who is the fool, Pitch." The man interrupted, not rudely, but almost helpfully despite the words, almost like he meant no threat in his words at the moment. Pitch couldn't help but feel like he'd just been interrupted like a over confident child.

As much as he'd like to toss this arrogant mortal to the Fearlings, his powers were admirable great...and useful. Not just the ability to see little fairies or tiny men dressed like candyfloss.

So instead of throwing an insult, Pitch asked with an almost patronizing air:

_**"I never did hear your name, Mortal."**_

The man gave him a less than impressed look before shrugging his shoulders almost carelessly.

"Alecvander, if you really must. Now again, Fearling, why am I here?"

**_"Alecvander."_** Pitch repeated, pointedly ignoring the last part of the sentence, at least in terms of answering. An odd name...but how...did this mortal know what a Fearling was? The Man in the Moon blubbering?

"Indeed."

Pitch's eyes narrowed at the almost proud and jolly glitter in those brown irises.

_**"Indeed."**_

An almost cocky grin appeared on Alecvander's face, before it fell away. Pitch decided to spare him asking the same question over and over like a broken record.

_**"Your...abilities could be very useful to me. We could be very great allies."**_

"Again, I say you are a fool, Pitch." Alecvander stated, wiping the smile off of the former's face, "And if you think such a alliance would be desire, or fruitful for me, then you are sorely mistaken."

Pitch frowned quietly, and didn't reply for some time. Alecvander clenched his fists again, countering the frown with a glare.

"Is that so?" He said smoothly, his words rolling off his tong with ease. But the clear threat in his voice was ever present. Alecvander tilted his head and raised both bushy brows, eye lids dropped slightly.

"Indeed."

Pitch sneered darkly. Then, in a terrifying warp, his face twisted into a malicious smirk_**. "Indeed."**_

The silent erupted, and the shadows burst like fireworks. The fearlings darted from the sides towards the wide-eyed mortal, who stared around in alarm. Pitch chuckled dangerously as the fearlings closed in, the slithering black sand drifting over Alecvander's head. His grin widened as the man backed away, eyes ever so wide in shock.

Then, suddenly, Alecvander reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a fist full of what appeared to be some kind of like blue powder. Pitch's grin faltered as he raised it into the air.

CRASH.

The second Alecvander tossed the dust towards the creeping fearlings, it had combusted like gunpowder and blown them away. It was like snapping the light on, and thus incinerating the shadows. A loud shriek of protest and anger filled the air as the fearlings retreated. Pitch snarled, fists clenched. Alecvander turned to him, his other hand clutching another handful of the magic powder.

"It was never going to be that easy, Fearling Wretch." He panted, seemingly still in shock from the sudden fright, "As long as I live, his power will never be manipulated by you."

Pitch's sneer faded ever so slightly, and his eyes locked on his. Then, his expression grew calm.

**_"Then it won't be. Have it your way."_** His smile was almost gentle. A started look came over Alecvander as Pitch raised his arms as if holding an invisible bow, and at the last moment, out of the air itself, the blue-black sand materialized into the exact shape of a bow and arrow.

Alecvander's brown eyes widened a fraction as the arrow sped towards him, and before he could react it burst into his eyes, blinding him, sending him tumbling backwards and yelling in agony. Pitched watched with quit satisfaction as the skin around the man's eyes sizzled as if burnt, scars appearing around his eyelids. Then, the black sand rushed forward and slammed into his abdomen, sending him tumbling into the shadows behind him.

instead of killing him, Pitch decided to let him mourn the loss of his precious gift. Let him see who the fool was now.

* * *

Many, many years later, Alecvander hung in a jagged cage down the very depths of the Nightmare King's lair. The empty cages around him creaked morbidly back and forth, the dim light reflecting off the rusted metal bars glinting in his blurred vision.

Blurred. Colorless. Scarred.

It hurt him inside more than his hurt him physically. If it had been what Pitch had wanted, the aged man was certian he had accomplished it. He straightened up, leaning away from where he clasped the bars for balance. It mattered not now. He'd lost his gift, and his time to use it had passed. Even now, Alecvander could feel his breath becoming laboured and his chest becoming tight. So many years had passed since the first day he'd seen the fairies in the forest. He felt tired.

So with tired eyes it was, that he watched Pitch approached him again. He'd taunted him shortly before with threats , threats of the safety of a certain fair-haired boy. Joseph.

Man in the Moon had waited for him. And Alecvander couldn't help but feel he and some others had been waiting a long time, too.

Back when he first encountered Pitch, he remembered himself cocky. Slightly less...understanding. Now that age had taken him, he felt more inclined to think. After his eyes had been scarred so terribly that day, Alecvander had thought. And thought. And now he faced him again, he saw someone almost different.

Pitch placed his hands behind his back with a cool air. He did not smile, strangely enough. So it seemed Alecvander would be the one to start the talk.

"You don't seem so sure about what you are doing, Pitch." He stated quietly in his old, aged voice, "Does it really mean nothing to you when you hurt others?"

A sneer came upon his face. _**"They had no regrets to hurting me," **_He hissed as he looked up at the old man, _**"You know nothing...old man."  
**_Alecvander was old, but this man before him was many years older. And yet he could read him like a book. The smile on his face now was forced, it did not reach his eyes. Doubt was clear in this plan against the Guardians, against the boy Jo. Why? Why the boy?

"Indeed." Alecvander murmured quietly, his voice cracked in his old age, "I am an old man now. You stand before me as youthful as you were on the day we met, yet eons more have you lived. And even then...I know a few things about life. About how...people work."

He placed his wrinkled fingers on the bars of the cage. "I saw your thoughts, Pitch. Your little girl was beautiful. Jo reminds me of her. I am sorry."

Pitch's expression froze. A second passed. Then another. His breathing seemed to quicken, and conflicted emotions began flickering, as if his mind couldn't decide which to show. Anger. Denial. Pain. Hurt.

Love. Agony.

Then, his face contorted in rage_**. "SILENCE!"**_

The cages around them trembled and rattled, his booming voice reverberating off the blackened walls. Pitch panted in fury, staring up at the calm, remorseful eyes of Alecvander with utter loathing. Though Alecvander's sight behind these old glasses was not the best, he could see them, feel them, sense those feelings clearly.

_**"You know nothing, you old fool." **_Pitch whispered quietly, his voice trembling with rage. Alecvander lowered his gaze.

"Think about what you've become, Kozmotis. Think about who you are turning into."

Pitch's expression was dark. He remained there, still and silent before the cage holding the old man for a few minutes. Then, he turned and left. Guietly. He did not look back.

* * *

Alecvader was a myserty. To the townspeople, he was a strange old man that had come from nowhere. To the Guardians, he was a mysterious mortal with a great and rare power that they'd never encountered. To Jo Mgeeth, he was a wise man and a figure who knew more than he could ever know.

Alecvander's grave was carved beautifully. Some said it was like the angels themselves did it. Flowers adorned the smooth carvings around his name, and the earth below was sprinkled over with sparkling frost and snow.

His grave had been placed somewhere odd. In the forest, among the trees. If the people of the town knew him more, they would have known that he loved to play in forests as a boy.

Had they known him, thy would have known that Jo Mgeeth visited the grave of his mentor ever day. Every day, he went to see the grave of the one adult who had truly loved him and understood him. With him came a stray shadow, a lone silhouette that wandered alongside the fair-haired boy. The shadow watched the grave as the Moonlight did, quiet in the night.

And sometimes, when the moon was not in the sky, when the clouds blocked its ever watchful gaze, A looming, black clad figure would stroll near to stare upon it with an expression as unreadable as a wordless, shredded book.

* * *

_"With him came a stray shadow, a lone silhouette that wandered alongside the fair-haired boy. The shadow watched the grave as the Moonlight did, quiet in the night." Points to the people who know who this is :)_

_"...tiny men dressed like candyfloss." Extra Points to those who know who this is_


End file.
